


Reflections

by alwaysastorm



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysastorm/pseuds/alwaysastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written at the beginning of 2010 for the LiveJournal F1 Slash Kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

“It was good of you to come.”

Gerhard turned around and smiled.

“You know that anytime you need to talk, I’m here to listen. It’s lucky I was in the country.”

Gerhard walked into the dim light of Bruno’s Kensington flat, nodding with approval. Somewhere in his mind he couldn’t marry this stylish, expensive apartment with the little boy who used to trail behind his Uncle Ayrton in the Interlagos and Jacarepaguá paddocks all those years ago. Where had the time gone? Suddenly this kid with teeth missing had turned into a deep-voiced, intelligent young man. One who looked more and more like Ayrton every... no. Gerhard shook his head, pushed those kind of thoughts out of his mind and accepted a glass of red wine from Bruno gratefully. He smiled to himself – Bruno drinking red wine? Shouldn’t this be grape juice?

Bruno sat down onto the sofa and grinned back, an eyebrow raised.

“What are you laughing at?”

Gerhard gave a chuckle.

“I was just wondering if you were old enough to drink.”

“Hey! I’m 26, hardly a kid.”

Bruno took a glug and clinked his glass with Gerhard’s. They drank companionably together for a while, an easy silence between them. Gerhard had known this young man for years, had taken an interest since he first heard that Bruno wanted to get into racing. And he had vowed that he would do anything he could to help, do what Ayrton would have done if he had been here. It was the least he could do. He missed Ayrton. God, he missed him. He spent hours, days, wondering whether helping Bruno to achieve his dream was the right thing to do. What right did he have to help? Shouldn’t he be discouraging him? Protecting the family from any more heartbreak? Sometimes, late at night when the thoughts about the old days came crawling back into his mind, Gerhard felt like lifting up the telephone and telling Bruno he was crazy. 

Now sitting here, he could see the light shining in Bruno’s eyes. He could see the energy and happiness radiating off the Brazilian, his athletic body a bundle of nervous energy. Gerhard knew that feeling. He knew that Bruno would be wanting to get into the car NOW, not when the winter testing came around. He sighed, a twinge in his back a reminder of the career he’d had. Such a contrast to the youthful health and fitness of his companion. Seeing Bruno sitting there, on the verge of the biggest year of his life, he suddenly felt very aware of his age. He’d always thought he’d enjoy getting older, but seeing Bruno all grown up made him ache for the past. As he reached out for his glass, the candlelight flickered, illuminating the silvery scars on his hand, a remnant of Imola ’89. Gerhard held his breath for a moment as the usual sting of pain jabbed him in the chest when he thought about that corner, that fucking corner. Tamburello, the one that had almost taken him. It had taken Ayrton instead and Gerhard didn’t think he would ever understand why.

“You alright?” Bruno asked. “You seem very quiet this evening.”

“I’m of the age when travelling gets a little tiring,” Gerhard replied jovially. “Forget me. Let’s talk about you.”

“Me? Go on,” Bruno said.

“Happy?”

“Of course I am.” 

“But?”

Bruno poured more wine into his glass and Gerhard noted that the bottle was now almost empty. And the younger man didn’t need to answer, because Gerhard knew what was on his mind. He knew this kid... no, this man. He paused for a second, trying to choose his words carefully.

“There will be pressure, it’s true. But try to ignore it, Bruno. Your surname brings good and bad – you’ll have people who are against you from the start because of who you are, but if you keep your head down, you can prove everyone wrong.”

Gerhard saw how sleepy Bruno’s eyes were now, how his speech was a little more slurred than it had been a few minutes earlier. Enough red wine to loosen the tongue, Gerhard thought to himself. He put his own glass down and moved closer to the younger man, putting a hand on his shoulder protectively.  
“I’m worried they will all want me to be him.”

Gerhard’s stomach gave a lurch. It was rare that they even spoke about Ayrton. Gerhard didn’t trust himself to bring the topic up sometimes. He worried that if he did, his voice would break and his body language would give him away. Oh, he told himself that he never mentioned Ayrton in order to shield Bruno from pain, but in reality it was to shield himself.  
Bruno took another gulp of wine as Gerhard started to speak.

“Let them. What do you care what they think? The only person you should care about is your family; about Ayrton himself. To hell with anyone else.”

“I care what you think too, Gerhard.”

Gerhard shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, wanting to look away from the serious, studying gaze that was so heartbreakingly familiar to him. 

“An old man like me?” he replied gruffly. “I’m the last person you should pay attention to.”

“I mean it,” Bruno replied, setting his now empty glass down and squeezing Gerhard’s arm. “Your opinion matters... YOU matter to me. Because you mattered to him.” 

Gerhard felt the strong hand squeeze again, and his stomach lurched against his will. This... this was wrong, yet if he closed his eyes, he could be back there, listening to a soft, thoughtful Brazilian accent tell him how important he was. But this wasn’t then, it was now, and it was late. He was slightly tipsy and he was tired, so tired. He covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned.

“I’ll have to be going – could you order me a taxi back to my hotel?”

Bruno glanced over at the clock on the wall. 

“It’s kinda late. Listen, just stay here? I only have one bedroom but you’re welcome to sleep in my bed and I’ll crash on the couch.”

Gerhard began to shake his head vehemently, but Bruno insisted, padding off into the bedroom to retrieve a pillow and duvet for himself. Gerhard thought of how sore his back would be in the morning if he was to sleep on the sofa, and nodded gratefully.

“You’re a good kid,” he joked, reaching up and ruffling the still-boyish dark curls on Bruno’s head. His hand paused briefly, his thumb brushing Bruno’s temple; hesitating before pulling away. Bruno’s mouth parted slightly, his eyes seeking contact with Gerhard’s, but the older man looked away. 

“Thanks for this, Bruno,” Gerhard eventually said, nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom. “I’ll see myself out in the morning, I like to be up early.”

He padded into the sparsely furnished bedroom, closed the door and removed his clothes hurriedly before sinking down into the soft mattress and pulling the cream sheets around him. It was mere seconds before sleep enveloped him, red and white cars dancing behind his eyelids like they always did in those strange moments between consciousness and slumber. As always, he dreamed of the roar of engines, the cheers of the crowd, of champagne and victory... of Ayrton. Ayrton was always there, bubbling under the surface of his thoughts when he was awake, just ready to pounce the minute he fell asleep. Touching his face tenderly, whispering his name.

“Gerhard.”

Gerhard cleared his throat and rolled over onto his side in an attempt to get back to sleep, back to his dream. 

“Gerhard.” The voice was more insistent now, and he realised that it was real. He groggily opened his eyes. The room was pitch black, but as his vision adjusted he saw Bruno’s pale, boyish face looking at him. He was kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his hand on Gerhard’s cheek. 

“Bruno – is something wrong?”

“No,” was the whispered reply as Bruno leant closer, placing his lips on Gerhard’s, letting them stay there until Gerhard pushed him away gently. 

“What are you doing?” 

Gerhard sat up on his elbow, still half-asleep and wondering if this was all down to his imagination. There was a click as Bruno switched the small bedside lamp on. In the dim light, his face was shadowed and his full lips were still slightly stained with the merlot. He leaned in once more, sliding his tongue in between Gerhard’s lips and teeth, letting his hand travel down to the body that was still muscular and tanned, despite its older years.

Gerhard grabbed Bruno’s shoulders, pushing him away, ashamed of himself for not resisting the kiss more.

“No! Bruno... Why?”

Brown eyes so like his Uncle’s looked back earnestly.

“Because you have always helped me. Now I’m helping you.”

“What do you mean?”

Bruno smiled wistfully.

“They all want me to be him, Gerhard. But you, the one who wants him back more than anything, has never once asked me.”

“Because I know you’re your own person,” Gerhard replied, his heart swelling with pain and guilty hope.

“That’s true. But let me be him, just this once. For you. I’ll do it for you.”

Gerhard wanted to resist; tried so hard to push Bruno away as he climbed onto the bed and covered his face, his neck, his torso in exploratory kisses. But while his brain said no, his body arched upwards, willing Bruno to continue. He heard his breathing become deeper as Bruno’s lips moved lower, kissing away the years of hurt and pain and longing for a man that would never come back. He placed a hand in Bruno’s dark hair, revelling in the sensation of those thick curls tumbling through his fingers. In the old days, he would have cracked a joke at this point, tried to lighten the mood. But not now. Instead he blinked, suddenly realising that his eyes were full of tears. 

“Bruno,” he whispered, patting his companion on the shoulder. 

Bruno sat up, pulling Gerhard up from the pillows and stroking his face softly. 

“What?”

“Just... just hold me. Please?”

The Brazilian smiled, wrapping his arms around the older man’s body. As he did so, Gerhard caught his own reflection in the mirror opposite. The dim light cast shadows upon his face; making the skin seemed less lined, the hairline less receding. Gerhard felt a shiver go down his spine as he looked at himself the way he was back when this young man’s Uncle had been in his arms.

*

Gerhard gritted his teeth as the bedroom door clicked rather too loudly behind him. He blocked out the image of Bruno, still lying tangled in the sheets from the night before. He was a fool. An old, stupid fool. Abusing the trust of someone who had always looked up to him. Bruno had been drunk, emotional, not thinking straight. That was it, they could never see one another again. 

As Gerhard stepped out into the drizzle of a London winter, he raised his eyes to the sky.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed. He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to. He wasn’t sure who he had betrayed. 

Catching sight of himself in a shop window, he winced at the wrinkles and the thinning hair. Maybe it was better that Ayrton had never seen him that way. Bruno had given him the man he so missed, but what had he gotten in return? A pale shadow of the person he used to be; a broken down old wreck that wasn’t worth a damn to anyone anymore.

Gerhard grimaced at his reflection once more before turning on his heel and walking away.


End file.
